


Equality of two domestic powers

by Petra



Category: Slings & Arrows
Genre: Culturally Normative D/s-verse, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-22
Updated: 2010-10-22
Packaged: 2018-07-18 19:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7328023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one talked about how many members of the theatrical troupe were secretly Egalitarians.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Equality of two domestic powers

**Author's Note:**

> The trouble with writing a long piece set in [a D/s AU](http://petra.dreamwidth.org/471404.html) is that it's hard to get one's head out of it, though there are some fandoms that it decidedly does not suit. Thanks to [](http://scy.dreamwidth.org/profile)[scy](http://scy.dreamwidth.org/) for pre-reading.

The theater was a place for people who did not fit, and that included any number of strange ducks. Geoffrey Tennant was among his kind there, with his manic turns and his depressive fits; the directors tended to be tops, and the actors subs, but a director who acted or an actor who turned into a director was not so odd as a switch would be on the street. No one questioned him.

Which was just as well, because "I hate the idea of being ordered around in bed" was one thing, "I hate the idea of ordering someone around in bed," was another, but anyone who expressed both of those feelings was asking for a sex life devoid of anything but interludes with their own loving hand unless they were very lucky.

Or unless they were bright enough to find a subculture where strange was the order of the day, and no one talked about how many members of their troupe were secretly Egalitarians.

It had only been in the last decade that the press stopped writing the word with a capital letter, and anyone who'd started identifying that way beforehand tended to keep it. Or at minimum, Geoffrey did.

Many things in his life, he felt, deserved capital letters. That was one of them, and it did not stop being Capitalized simply because the Toronto Sun decided that it wasn't worth the smidgen of extra ink each time.

The tabloids did tend to focus their rages on sexual innovations that were less inexplicably dull--Top turned Sub was good for any number of headlines, and the opposite tended to draw just as much interest. Secret Switches abounded. But secret Egalitarians--apart from the tendency of the psychiatric field to analyze anyone who claimed that leaning unto death--

Especially--as Geoffrey could attest--if they had the misfortune to have other oddities lurking in the brainpan--

They were approximately as interesting as a snowbank, and as erotic.

"Are you sure you're not--"

He'd heard it in every direction from nearly everyone who'd ever wanted to sleep with him, and yes, he was sure.

He'd told Oliver, drunkenly, decades ago, and Oliver laughed in his face and toasted him. "You would be," he said. "Or you'd claim it, like Hamlet."

"I'm not just saying it for fun," Geoffrey argued.

"I'm sure not, darling." Oliver winked, broad and lewd. "There's nothing at all fun about condemning yourself to a life of celibacy, but then, it should help the casting--no one wants a top as their Thane of Caudor, or a sub for Hal, now, do they, but you--" he tapped the side of his nose. "No one can pigeon-hole you if you disclaim all that."

Except as a celibate. But Geoffrey hadn't ever been that.

As with so many things in his life, the fact that he'd found a label for this mess could ultimately be attributed to Darren Nichols, who was as thoroughgoing a switch as anyone Geoffrey had ever met before or ever hoped to meet again. Over the course of several overly exciting weeks, they'd done everything either of them could think of in every configuration.

Experimenting, he'd told himself then. And he hadn't been sober for much of it. Neither had Darren.

Eventually, when ingenuity and the novelty of being naked with someone who had proclaimed himself devoid of preconceived notions--and then proven it as comprehensively as possible--had palled, they'd washed up on the far shore of Illyria, sticky and tired. "And none of that did a damned thing for you," Darren said.

"The sex was good." Geoffrey chafed some feeling back into his wrists. "The bondage--no. And while I did enjoy beating you that one time, it was mostly because of what you said about my Petruchio, not because it made me hot."

"Revenge tragedies are more Jacobean than my tastes." Darren kissed his cheek. "Well. If you want to try--just--" he waved a hand vaguely. "Whatever it is those Egalitarians do--lie around and hug, I suppose--do let me know."

It had been better than the other parts, though without the distraction of power exchange, Geoffrey was forced to conclude that Darren simply wasn't his type, whatever that was.

"I liked you better when I could order you to shut up," Geoffrey said.

"And I liked you better when you did it."

He did, a few times, but it felt like the wrong kind of acting, and eventually the relationship fizzled out into a series of arguments that were better than the sex had ever been.

Ellen had never asked the inevitable question while she was sober, to her credit, though he knew as well as anyone who'd ever been in a company with her what a top she was. She didn't push--not the outward signs, not the things she might've liked in bed--and if perhaps he gave in a little more readily than he might've, for someone else, that was only Ellen. Every relationship had a little give and take. 


End file.
